Having spent a good couple of weeks not having a quite good enough reason to write about anything in particular, this week fate decided to intervene and provide sufficient material for a 14 week sell-out run at the Hammersmith Apollo with accompanying book and DVD. Perhaps I exaggerate, but only slightly.
Monday last week may have started for most of you about 7am. Not me. 1.30am, I receive a call from my stomach, informing me that I had ingested Something Unpleasant and would I mind reporting to the bathroom for the next 4 hours. During this time I pondered many things, including (a) the fact that I am through with a well-known brand of salsa dip and (b) evolution sucks. Specifically, WHY do I have a fifth toe (value zilch) when a somewhat better mutation might be, say, the ability for your body to decide (and perhaps, WARN) that it shouldn't assimilate something BEFORE you've munched your way through a generous portion of the substance in question. But oh no, instead we're equipped with the evoluntionary equivalent of closing the barn door after the horse has bolted: sit on the loo, head down the loo, sit on the loo, head down the loo. And so on.
Of course, this had to coincide with the best office party we've ever had (top of a well-known London landmark no less). The sympathetic email from my boss indicated that it would be a shame if I missed the party, but that it would be an even greater shame if I threw up on the attending high ranking member of the judiciary. At 6.50pm that evening, it became apparent that the relevant member of the judiciary had had a lucky escape. So no party (apart from the few minutes I managed to stagger in to see everyone else enjoying themselves before retreating due to the effect of the alcohol fumes).
And there was no Doctor Who this week.
And Lost finishes next week.
And yes I am sulking.
Sunday, 25 May 2008
Saturday, 3 May 2008
5 lemonade & vodkas later....
Whatever subject I might otherwise have written about this week has been overshadowed by the consumption yesterday evening by yours truly of enough alcohol to render me officially drunk. This has been confirmed by MeWife who is an expert in these matters and assures me that by the 5th shot I would indeed have been drunk. In light of this monumental event while being only just into my late-thirties, I am now finally able to tell the world what I get like when completely whammed.
It all started innocently enough with a trip after work to the pub on the eve of a bank holiday weekend. However, having been provided with an evening pass by MeWife, I decided to make a night of it with my assembled comrades. Mmm. Having gotten into the pub/tapas bar at 5.50pm we were sat down and waited on by a nice lady who was very keen to keep us all topped up. This more than anything else, I think, led to my liver getting its first major unintended workout. Anything else? yes please....on the tab....oooooh dear.
Fortunately, I can, it seems, hold my drink. No action paintings, no incomprehensible gibberish, no surly grumpiness, just a rather pleasant sensation which lasted until exactly 11.11pm when I realised I had to navigate my way home, which was in fact much harder than is usually the case. Concentrating hard, I managed to ensure I caught the last train, didn't fall asleep, didn't throw up in the cab. The trickiest part in fact was working out that my geographic relationship with the nearest gents becomes much more important when a bit intoxicated.
As for a hangover, my only symptoms so far have been a rather washed out sensation, and the discovery that being drunk keeps me awake, which is a bind when all you really want is a nice snooze to sleep the damn thing off. This does however give me no excuse for not getting the kids up in the morning, which I duly managed to do at an astonishing 7am. Well I was impressed anyway.
So there we have it. I am now just about back to 'normal' except for the fact that my short term memory seems to have been affected. I know this because I am getting exasperated looks from MeWife with whom I apparently keep trying to have the same conversation. This I attribute to the fact that my short term memory seems to have been affected and the effect that the vodka has had on my short term memory...
It all started innocently enough with a trip after work to the pub on the eve of a bank holiday weekend. However, having been provided with an evening pass by MeWife, I decided to make a night of it with my assembled comrades. Mmm. Having gotten into the pub/tapas bar at 5.50pm we were sat down and waited on by a nice lady who was very keen to keep us all topped up. This more than anything else, I think, led to my liver getting its first major unintended workout. Anything else? yes please....on the tab....oooooh dear.
Fortunately, I can, it seems, hold my drink. No action paintings, no incomprehensible gibberish, no surly grumpiness, just a rather pleasant sensation which lasted until exactly 11.11pm when I realised I had to navigate my way home, which was in fact much harder than is usually the case. Concentrating hard, I managed to ensure I caught the last train, didn't fall asleep, didn't throw up in the cab. The trickiest part in fact was working out that my geographic relationship with the nearest gents becomes much more important when a bit intoxicated.
As for a hangover, my only symptoms so far have been a rather washed out sensation, and the discovery that being drunk keeps me awake, which is a bind when all you really want is a nice snooze to sleep the damn thing off. This does however give me no excuse for not getting the kids up in the morning, which I duly managed to do at an astonishing 7am. Well I was impressed anyway.
So there we have it. I am now just about back to 'normal' except for the fact that my short term memory seems to have been affected. I know this because I am getting exasperated looks from MeWife with whom I apparently keep trying to have the same conversation. This I attribute to the fact that my short term memory seems to have been affected and the effect that the vodka has had on my short term memory...
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